Crash
by Stealth Dragon
Summary: Sequel to Buzz. In which Sheppard demonstrates the problems with mixing medicines.


**Crash**

Sequel to Buzz

Both By Stealth Dragon

Rating – A pleasant K, with a smidgen of whump involved.

Disclaimer – I own this like I own a million bucks and a Corvett – which I don't. I could go for the million bucks though.

Synopsis – In which Sheppard demonstrates the problems of mixing medications.

A/N: Finally! At long last! I figured it out! I've been wracking my brain for a sequel to Buzz, since a sequel was inevitable to a situation like Buzz. The muses put their heads together during a very looooong conference, and we were able to come up with a workable, likeable plot. There will be danger, whump, and hopefully the cutest critter I've ever thought up. A critter I am not opposed to others borrowing if you feel fancied to do so. Just don't kill it, whatever you do. If you haven't read Buzz, that's okay, although this story would be much funnier if you did. Not a requirement though.

SGA

Ring of Fire. Burning Ring of Fire. That lovely little Johnny Cash ditty ran circles in Sheppard's mind. It was an easy means of thinking warm thoughts, and a far superior song to get stuck in the head than that Sesame Street theme song about sunny days. How that even got drilled into his skull to begin with, John had no idea.

The heat of the sun absorbing into the bare skin of his back had Sheppard pulling in a contented breath. An unyielding rock surface pressed into his sternum and ribs as a result, but like hell he was moving. Flat, warm rock warming his chest, sun warming his back – something soft and relenting would have made it heaven, but warmth was warmth and he was a man who took what he could get without complaint. He lifted his head from his arms to turn it the other direction before his neck solidified into a crick he'd never pull out of. A small, fluffy weight warming the area of his spine between the shoulder blades twitched but remained fixed in the exact same spot. John inhaled cedar-scented air, and exhaled with a sigh.

Cedar-like scent. The trees had an uncanny similarity to pine and spruce, just without the pleasant smell so coveted by air-freshener companies.

The fluffy weight moved. John could feel it uncoiling, shifting, probably stretching. A long tail of fur tickled his back when the weight recoiled to face the other way. John grinned. He'd admit to Rodney's observation – Sherbet had a lot of cat in him. But there was enough dog to make it more like a hybrid and, possibly, the world's ultimate pet. King of pets, actually. It was every conceivable pet rolled into one with the exception of anything with wings.

John was a grown man. He wasn't supposed to admit to such opinions, but the little beast was undeniably cute. Not that he would ever say it out loud. And not within hearing range of McKay.

The perfect pet, the kind that would have little girls squealing with delight. Size of a kitten, with rabbit-soft fur colored bright orange and striped in yellow and red, and a prehensile lemur-like tail, extra long for such a tiny body. It had a kit fox face – small snout, huge ears, and button eyes. Afghanistan had familiarized John with kit foxes. The timid little rat-dogs, normally shy, were quick to lose inhibition when food was tossed to them. Yes, they were all precious when they darted from holes to snatch bread chunks thrown to them, but not so precious when in the morning packs and MREs were shredded and bits of food scattered to attract the mice later on. Little snots.

Sherbet had no inhibitions. Day one of coming to this world and Sherbet had poked his little nose out from behind a stump. Two seconds later, he was bounding about their camp, sticking that same nose into sleeping bags and sacks. Five minutes later it was rubbing up against everyone's leg, purring. Animals could be such devious plotters. It had known, John could have sworn it had known, that its feline attributes would be the melting point for McKay's rock-solid heart. Leg rubbing led to McKay breaking the rule he normally clung to and pushed for so adamantly – don't feed the alien animals. McKay started the feeding with bits of power bar. Five hours later and fate was sealed. The little cat/dog/rodent the locals called a Mir'ka took up residence curled in Rodney's lap, and John caught a glimpse of what McKay must have been like as a kid – or at least a vague shadow of it.

And thus attachment was complete. Except with Ronon. The man had no concept of 'pets'. McKay worried about waking up and finding the adorable rat roasting on a spit.

McKay called him Herbert. Herbert! What the hell kind of name was that? A wraith name. In fact, John had been contemplating naming their next acquired wraith prisoner Herbert. The bright coloring screamed Sherbet, like Sherbet ice-cream. John wasn't normally one for cute names, but Killer and Black-hawk would have been the instigator of non-stop laughter, giving John the look of a man trying too hard to maintain masculinity.

Two days after meeting, and Sherbet might as well be the fifth member of the team. Integration had been flawless, as though the Mir'ka had always been around. The locals weren't surprised. The vast population of Mir'kas were domesticated because the kids liked carrying the babies around. It was when the Mir'kas got older that interest was lost. Typical, very typical, in any galaxy apparently.

Mir'kas would have no problem remaining owned on earth. Their perpetual kitten size wouldn't allow anything else.

It took effort for John to peel his own eye lids apart. He blinked until the world focused into solid forms and colors. Breezes made the branches bend, creak, and leaves whisper like ocean waves. John rolled his eyes up to the canopy and sunlight glittering through the green. Birds were birds no matter the planet, singing with high-pitched twittering from distant places, though something seemed to be trilling, and something else wailing like a loon. Not bad sounds, really. Pleasantly lulling when he didn't listen to them directly. The breezes were a problem when they brushed him. The temperature had to be a good eighty verging toward ninety, but John's body seemed intent on making it feel fifty going on forty. He would have left his shirt on except that he was tired of the remarks concerning him being the Stay Puff Marshmallow Man's scrawny cousin, the ghost of Atlantis, the reject from Dawn of the Dead, and whatever else McKay came up with that John couldn't recall.

John's eyelids slid closed on their own volition, and he shivered when another breeze snaked around him. He would get color back to his skin even if it killed him – or turned him beet red.

Footsteps crunched their way toward him over a pine and twig-littered ground, but knowing the source, he was inclined to keep his eyes closed. Opening them was too much work.

" Jeez, Colonel. Have you no modesty? Put your shirt back on. No one wants to see your ribs."

John smiled. " Jealousy, McKay, is an unsightly virtue to have and behold."

_Three, two, one..._

The anticipated snort sounded. " Oh, yes Colonel, I'm just so enraged that you have such a skeletal physique and I don't." He snorted again for round two. " You look like... like... a pencil, Colonel. Anyone ever tell you that?"

" You just did."

" And you're welcome."

John's chest spasmed in a silent, breathy chuckle. " Shut up McKay."

" When pigs fly."

" Then find me a catapult and a pig."

John pictured perfectly Rodney's responding scowl, and chuckled again, breast bone pushing into the flat striated rock face uncomfortably.

" Are you unwell, Colonel?"

John pulled one eyelid open to the worried visage of Teyla kneeling beside the rock. It took a moment for the other eyelid to follow. " Fine," he replied. He lifted his head and moved his arms to push himself up. The motion took a moment to disrupt Sherbet. John felt the fuzzball stir, going from a solid mound of fluff against his spine to four tiny paws light on his skin. Sherbet leaped from his back to the rock and proceeded to rub up against his wrist.

Getting up was far more of an ordeal than opening his eyes. His arms shook, his joints complained in dull aches, and his head felt three sizes too big for his neck. So he thought _screw this_ and lowered himself onto the rock, slowing to turn onto his back and let the sun warm his chest. Sherbet rubbed up and down along John's right ribcage, digging his head in, smacking John in the face repeatedly with the hairy, ropey tail on each turn. John spat fuzz and swatted at Sherbet's tail. That, in turn, instigated Sherbet to join in the game by dropping onto his side and pawing at his own tail-tip, yipping and grunting.

" Are you sure?" Teyla pressed. John rolled his head sideways to look at her.

" Teyla, it was just strep throat. I'm fine now, not even contagious anymore. Beckett cleared me, it's all good, and if it wasn't I wouldn't be here."

" But you are still taking medication..."

John flopped his hand in the air dismissively. " Precaution. Sometimes it likes to make a comeback. No big deal."

" But the other medicine..."

" It's just a muscle relaxant in case my back acts up again. Precaution, Teyla. The key word is precaution. I'm fine. So I'm having a hard time getting up. It's comfortable here, warm, quiet. No antiseptic smells, no heart monitor, no I.V. Crap, Teyla, it's the best sleep I've had in days. And I think that tea you're having me drink is really doing the trick. My head isn't doing that in-time tempo to my heartbeat. Hell, I haven't felt this relaxed since... um... since..."

" Ever?" Rodney piped. " That's because you're doped half way to the other side of this planet and back again." McKay materialized beside Teyla, standing – and on the rarest of occasions – actually towering over the prone John. He leaned in with hands planted on his knees. John pulled his head back, then had his upper body follow.

" McKaaaayyyy? What the hell are you doing?"

" Checking your eyes, seeing if they're dilated."

" Personal space, McKay. Ever heard of it? I tend to take mine seriously... Where's Ronon? I need him to man-handle you out of it."

McKay had his neck fall limply sideways, and smiled tightly. " Relax. You should be used to this by now. In fact..." Rodney's hand went straight for John's forehead, but John blocked it with a well-timed and well-practiced swat.

" Not even! I'm fine, get over it. Teyla, help me up."

He lifted his hand for Teyla to grab, and with her aid rose to a sitting position on the rock. Beside him, Sherbet had given up on the game of grab the tail to start bounding about in a circle, making happy little 'yeeping' noises. John shivered and grabbed his shirt crumpled beside him to yank it on. The act of sitting, and redressing, seemed to make his heart thud a little heavier. He waited a moment, catching his breath, before rolling off the rock and onto his feet. Sherbet widened his circle and would have 'yeeped' contentedly like that all day if Rodney hadn't gathered him, letting the mini-furball scuttle up to his shoulders to rub along the physicist's neck, purring.

Ronon was by the fire pit, stoking it and tossing on more wood. Beyond the fire was the little stone hut that was the team's 'cabin', with an itchy looking thatched roof that probably couldn't even keep out bird crap. But, really, no different than a cheap tent. John lowered himself onto one of the logs serving as a seating arrangement and held his hands out to the fire. Circulation wasn't his friend today. Turtles moved faster than his blood.

When the flames were licking the air, Ronon set a metal grate on the two larger stones either side of the small ring of rocks. On top of the grate was place a pot full of water and an iron pan that Ronon tossed chunks of meat and vegetables into from the small blue cooler.

John smiled wistfully. He loved camping. Never mind that they were doing so because the locals didn't trust them enough to let them stay in their village. The place smelled anyways – animal musk and something inexplicably more pungent than that. Stepping into that place was the one time the body didn't mind the prospect of suffocation. Out here, in the woods smelling softly of cedar, the only thing pungent was the fire – and the meat eventually, but that was more pleasant. It took John for a mental skip down memory lane, to childhood and such, and days spent with his grandfather out in the woods of norther California, even all the way up to Washington. All that was missing was a glassy lake and mosquitoes. The evening chill was present, except it wasn't evening, it was afternoon. And it was a warm afternoon, his body just had yet to tell the difference. He would have stood and walked around to get the blood flowing, except that he was comfortable. No use losing that for circulation that would decrease the moment he sat back down.

He saw Teyla out of the corner of his eyes sitting on the log next to him and holding something out on the tips of two fingers. John looked over to see his jacket, then looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

" Touching your hand was like touching ice," she said. " You really should be more mobile, Colonel."

John took the jacket and pulled it on. An improvement, especially with the fire warming the front of him. He scrubbed his hand through his hair and yawned before he spoke. And when he did speak, he laid on the sarcasm thick.

" Gee, I would if the camp didn't need my protection and all. What the hell is up with that, anyways? Any luck convincing Odran I have no intention of 'looting' his precious collection of crap?"

" He's had many bad experiences with soldiers from other worlds," Teyla reminded. " Our separation is only for a time. Odran promised."

John pulled a Rodney snort. " Yeah, promised. As in ' saying what needs to be said to keep the nasty soldier from being annoying.'" He looked at McKay, crouched before the fire, poking the meat and vegetables with a fork, sporting an expression of uncertainty. John leaned in toward Teyla.

" You even warn him about McKay's occasional sticky fingers?"

" I heard that," Rodney snapped. Sherbet yeeped, and continued rubbing. " But if you feel quite inclined to ruin this scientific opportunity, do it at the banquet tomorrow. Odran and that mayor guy, what's his name," McKay snapped his fingers repeatedly and Sherbet pawed at them. " _Vron!_ Yeah, Mayor Vron. And their priest Hyran, Hyron..."

" Hyreen," Teyla corrected.

" Yeah, whatever. Head honcho for their religion/cult thingy. They've set up some kind of banquet, loaded with officials. Peace treaty celebration or something like that."

John's heart dropped uncomfortably like a rock at this news. " Wow. Sounds like quite the dinner party. Sure I'm invited? Maybe it's just me feeling sorry for myself but I got the impression Odran and the rest of the town folk were a little insulted by my presence."

" You are just feeling sorry for yourself," Rodney sniffed.

John's jaw clenched. " McKay, some of them spit on me."

" Which is one of the reasons for this banquet," Teyla said. " To come to know us better. This banquet is a sign that they are beginning to trust us, though we still have a ways to go. Perhaps afterwards they may be more open to both you and Ronon, and invite you both with us to the old temple."

" Sure Odran isn't looking for ways to get me in spitting range?" John murmured. He started rubbing the side of his jaw thoughtfully. He needed to earn some trust points in order to accompany Rodney and Teyla to the temple. He didn't care much for the people – it was the planet he didn't trust – and a divided team was an ineffective team should the wraith come a'cullin'. Especially so since once in the temple, long-range communication became precarious, and the only way Sheppard was ever going to know if there was trouble was if either Rodney or Teyla kept screaming non-stop.

So if this banquet thing worked to their favor, it might just be worth putting up with Odran's negative innuendos concerning soldiers and low I.Q.s.

" Put up with it Colonel," Rodney stated dryly. " This isn't just another Indiana Jone's temple run that may or _may not_ uncover something. This temple contains a lot of Ancient information, including possible locations for possible outposts that could very well contain ZedPMs. So if we want to continue having free access, then it'll be up to all of us to play nice with the locals. Got it?"

John feigned a grimace. " Then you'd better pretend you're sick, McKay, or we're screwed."

Rodney turned his heavy lidded gaze on John. " Actually, _Colonel_, the locals like me just fine. It's you that better be a good doggie or Weir won't hesitate to order Beckett to whip out the big needles on you. Paranoid snots or not, Sheppard, we need these people's help. My advice – just keep your mouth shut and play the part of the dim-witted soldier to their liking."

John ground his teeth, sifting through his myriad of come-backs and insults. He settled for quick and easy, and let loose a shrill whistle.

" Sherbet, come'ere boy!"

Sherbet yeeped and leaped from Rodney's shoulder only to be snagged by the physicist half-way down. " His name is Herbert!" Rodney growled, placing the Mir'ka back on his shoulders. It didn't stop John's smug smirk of vindictive satisfaction.

SGA

" Colonel. Hey, Colonel!"

John snapped his eyes open, sucking in a lungful of air. He curled as tightly as he could deeper into the sleeping bag, but his body heat seemed practically non-existent, and he shuddered.

" Colonel, what the hell? Did you even ever get up this morning? What if there had been an emergency?"

John blinked back sleep film and rolled his head to be staring up at the irate face of McKay. At least John thought it looked irate. The film was thick this morning... noon... afternoon. He recalled waking up when the others did, having breakfast, sitting by the fire, going numb with boredom, then crawling back into the sleeping bag when he'd toppled to the ground, twice, half-asleep.

When blinking proved fruitless, John pulled his hand from the slightly warmer confines of the sleeping bag to rub both eyes using thumb and fingers.

" What time is it?" John groaned.

" Time to haul your skinny butt out of happy-land and slap yourself awake. The banquet's in an hour. Plenty of time to stop looking like you've been surviving the wild and start looking more presentable."

John sighed heavily, and speaking of heavy, his bones must have gained a few pounds if that were possible. John slipped his led-weighted body from the sleeping bag and shivered.

" You fell asleep in your jacket!" Rodney practically whined. He was never good about sounding as irate as he looked, but could shriek to make a banshee jealous. " Colonel, it's like eighty degrees outside. Oh! I knew it. You're still sick, aren't you!"

John was starting to wonder that. Being cold, aching – all the proper signs. He flinched in alarm when Rodney pressed the back of his hand to his forehead. The physicist tilted his head to the side in confusion.

" Ooookaaaayyy? Maybe not. No fever. Actually you're like ice. See? This is why naps aren't all they're cracked up to be. Bet it's that tea. Go splash some cold water on your face and walk around before the villagers see you and think the dead are walking the world. They just actually might believe it."

John did another sigh and ran his fingers through his hair -the farthest he ever went in terms of taming it. He slapped his boots on and headed – more like lurched rather drunkenly – from the hut to the stoked fire. The need to sit was torturous, and he stared at the log seats with longing as he stood by the fire and warmed his hands. Sherbet was at his feet, rubbing up against his boots while purring.

" Hey pip-squeak," he murmured drowsily. Sherbet took up bounding circles around John, yeeping.

Teyla was sitting on a log on the other side of the fire, watching John steadily. " You have been sleeping much, Colonel. Are you sure you are well?"

John yawned until his jaw popped. " Oh yeah. McKay just did a head check. No fever. Could just be the massive boredom's finally taking it's toll. Seriously, this banquet better be worth it. I need something to do besides keeping alien ants out of the food."

Having his hands out before him had them shaking for the whole world to see. He snatched them back and shoved them into the pockets of his jacket. This was getting strange, and if he wasn't careful, he might end up agreeing with Rodney about the tea after all.

SGA

Sheppard was up to something, probably hiding something again, namely a wound or alien disease with a fever antithesis to the norm. It wasn't that far to the village, and not only was Sheppard not taking the lead, every time Rodney glanced back he saw the Colonel's breathing becoming more of an effort for him.

The usual plan of action for a situation like this was to wait until Sheppard finally collapsed. Normally by then Rodney's anger was replaced by terrified worry, but it always managed to make a come-back once said crisis was over with. This time around, however, Rodney would act fast. The moment the Colonel dropped, Rodney would spout a string of curses and insults concerning self-sacrificing numb skulls too macho-centered to know when to call it quits and admit to infirmity. It would serve him right, and not get interrupted by Beckett wanting to join in.

It might have been a shallow thing for Rodney to think, but he honestly hoped the crisis would either happen now or wait until after the banquet. Preferably before. Sheppard was starting to look a shade pale, and Rodney doubted that illness would work too well in getting the locals to grant Sheppard leniency. Soldiers of any planet really didn't sit well with these people. They had a nasty history of being invaded by those under the pretense of being 'peaceful explorers.' They'd only opened up to the Atlanteans since there was only four of them, and McKay had agreed to their terms despite Sheppard's polite protest. Perhaps after all this Sheppard might be allowed to accompany them to the temple and stop his whining, but Rodney doubted they would ever be allowed a stay within the city walls.

No love loss there. He could smell the place from the camp when the wind's direction was just right.

" Colonel Sheppard," said Teyla. " Are you sure..."

" Yes," John snapped. " Fine. Positive. Just... a little drowsy. Think I shouldn't have taken that pain pill."

Rodney rolled his eyes even though Sheppard was too far behind to see it. " You think?"

" Shut up, McKay. I had a crick in my neck that was killing my head. You want me to keep my mouth shut? Better drowsy than biting people's heads off because they yap too much which – I know you don't realize it – but these people are quite adept at doing. Probably even better than you."

Sheppard probably was in some kind of pain, because he was really starting to push it. Even worse, they were coming up to the village. Rodney could see the high walls of brown and yellow striped flagstones. Nothing like walking into a soldier-hating town trailing a pissy Colonel in the rear. Rodney could envision the pitch-fork waving mobs in the near future. He was so using the Colonel as a shield if it came to that.

Some sort of trumpet blared, and the massive metal gates groaned open. Odran was there – Rodney's height and round with a paunch stomach and hair receding so far back there was barely any left. He was dressed in a kind of long, copper robe adorned in white thread stitched to look like leaves or something. Beside him was the Mayor, Colonel Sanders white hair and white beard, dressed in a kind of gray leather jacket with gray slacks and a white shirt. Next to him was that priest guy, also wearing a robe, this one red, orange and gold. He was tall, thin, and severe looking with his hairless head covered by a kind of silver cap. He held a staff crooked at the top with a bell dangling from it that chimed with every slight breeze and minor movement from palsied hands.

Rodney greeted them with the customary head bow, and the three men returned the favor. Odran then approached Rodney with outstretched arms.

" Dr. McKay, welcome." He didn't embrace Rodney, just pat him on the back. He nodded to Teyla and Ronon, and completely ignored Colonel Sheppard.

" We welcome you to this pinnacle occasion. A celebration meal over our new alliance."

New alliance as in 'you haven't tried to kill us yet, so let's party.' But Rodney McKay had yet to ever be one to pass up a free meal. They entered the town with its dirt streets and neat little box buildings. Rather third world, the kind with bits and pieces of something advanced, such as electric lights and something akin to bicycles. Opposite that were the ugly vulture/chickens running through the streets, along with various other kinds of livestock and a few critters like Herbert – except smaller. Herbert, who had been simultaneously following while running circles around the team, had taken up residence on Sheppard's shoulders, tail erect and fur bristling. Apparently, the territory spawned bad memories, or he just didn't like the look of all the other animals.

The three men led the way through the various streets to a kind of open pavilion where a long wooden table was set. When they arrived, servants pulled out the chairs for everyone to sit. There were others present, most likely officials by their bright robes and more tolerable smell, a few the spouses of the team's three hosts. The three men sat on the left, the team on the right across from them, and as soon as they were settled, more servants arrived carrying wooden plates of various meats, fruits, and vegetables along with glass decanters in a rainbow array of assorted drinks.

Sheppard ended up, somehow, by McKay, which immediately had his nerves singing an unpleasant tune. Teyla was next to him, and Ronon on her other side. Servants spooned a little of each food onto the smaller plates, then set out the eating utensils and cups. Drinks were poured, some odd pray in some odd language was murmured by the priest, and folks began digging in.

" Dr. McKay, this really is quite a marked day," said the mayor in his joyless, scratchy voice. " To have such peaceful interactions after so long, and them being residents of the great Ancestral city. This is beyond an honor."

The secondary reason for the better reception – For some, snubbing one from the Ancient city had the equivalent of tossing a billionaire out of ones home. Thanks to the wraith, too many once technologically advanced cities had been reduced to pauper poor places verging on dumps, desperate to regain what they had lost. And as long as it didn't turn into another Genii fiasco, there was no reluctance to sharing. Of course, since an Ancient gene was required to work most of the Ancestor goodies, sharing normally involved weapons, better farming techniques, and aid in surviving a cull.

" It is even more of an honor," Odran jumped in. The man was high-strung and excitable to a point that made Rodney feel calm and collected. " That you have come to aid us in the translation of the old temple. Too many have had other intentions in mind, as I have told you. And the headway we are achieving is remarkable. You are quite skilled in the Ancient language."

Smiling while slicing a piece of meat with the side of his iron fork, Rodney actually had to look away for a moment to hide the fact that he was blushing. " Well, it was more of a necessity than a skill. But translating the wall markings has been helping me to build the skill up better. It really is quite fascinating, all the history. Oh um, please don't take this the wrong way, but none of this food was soaked in any of that acidic, sour juice we talked about?"

Odran beamed. " Of course not, Dr. McKay. We are not fond of sour foods. Please, Dr. McKay, could you repeat the story of what became of the Ancestors for the mayor? We only know of the legends concerning the victory of the wraith."

McKay nodded and talked around a mouth full of meat. " Of course..." It really was good food. The meat was tender, the vegetables crisp. Rodney saw out of his peripheral vision Ronon bent over his plate, shoveling, and Teyla taking more refined bites.

That left Sheppard, low and behold already causing trouble by doing nothing more than pushing the food around his plate. And it didn't go unnoticed. The priest guy was giving Sheppard a look that really should have had a hole burning through the Colonel's skull and exploding into flames.

Rodney elbowed Sheppard in the ribs. Sheppard's head snapped up with a start, which startled Herbert who slipped from his shoulders with a yelp, only saving himself by clinging to John's back. Rodney cleared his throat to continue on with the abridged history lesson.

When finished, the priest shook his head sadly – or as sad as a face like his could get. Really he looked more as though he were scowling. " Such a terrible tragedy. It causes one to reflect – if the great Ancestors could not defeat the wraith with all their power, what hope have we?"

Rodney shrugged nonchalantly. " Hey, if we can drive them back, I'd say there's hope. On our world, we've had to deal with a pretty nasty enemy but... we've managed."

" Only to have someone else come leaving flaming bags of destruction on our doorstep," Sheppard mumble, taking a bite of meat using his fingers. Rodney elbowed him again, harder.

The mayor leaned forward. " W-what did he say?" Rodney started to wonder if the man was old enough to be an Ancestor himself.

Rodney glared threateningly at Sheppard, who was paying about as much attention to him as the food he was chewing. In fact, nothing was getting the Colonel's attention. His eyes were glassy, vacant, with eyelids going heavy. Rodney's heart pounded in a combination of nerves and fury. He dug his elbow sharper into Sheppard's ribs, which produced a better reaction when Sheppard stared bullets at him.

" Um," Rodney stuttered. " Nothing, he didn't say anything. He hasn't been sleeping well so my say stuff for no reason. Don't pay him any mind. So... What were we talking about?"

Herbert managed to return to his perch on Sheppard's shoulders, curling up against the back of the Colonel's neck. When the plates were empty (with the exception of Sheppard's, earning stern and unfriendly scrutiny from all three officials) they were removed to be replaced by bowls full of some kind of sweet-smelling green soup.

" It is a delicacy," Odran explained, picking up his spoon to swirl the creamy liquid. " Clamanny soup. Although it's not really a soup but a kind of dessert. Difficult to make but very worth the effort."

Rodney took a sip. It tasted like roasted pineapple and banana with whip cream flavor – not bad at all.

" What is the Ancestral city like?" the priest asked between sips.

" Huge," Rodney replied. " It..." he caught, in time, Sheppard's head dropping to his chest. Alarmingly, so did Odran and the priest. Rodney elbowed Sheppard and he jerked awake, glancing around in confusion until able to mentally reorient himself.

Now it was Odran doing the bullet-glare at Sheppard. " Do you not find the soup to your liking, young man?" he queried with a lifted eyebrow.

Sheppard blinked numbly. " Uh... No, no... it's, um... fine." To prove it, he took a sip, smacked, and smiled. " See?"

" Then it must be our conversation that dulls your senses so. I apologize that it does not concern such topics as war and the various ways to gut a man."

Sheppard's hand gripped the spoon until the knuckles went bone white. He pressed his lips into a firm, hard line, and his throat moved in a tight swallow.

" I'm just a little tired. Hard work trying to protect a camp," he ground out. Rodney stiffened, and reconnected his elbow to Sheppard's ribs – five times. Sheppard, however, was off on another plane of existence, one consisting entirely of fighting back rage.

Odran sniffed and turned his attention to swirling his soup before taking another sip. " Yes, well, I apologize for the lack of any blood to be shed. Really, if you wish, we could offer up some of our sick and wounded livestock for target practice, if that would stay your boredom."

Now John's jaw was working to grind his teeth hidden behind his sealed mouth. He looked down at his soup, and with a shaking hand dipped the spoon into the sweet sludge, brought it up, and shoved it in his mouth.

McKay was starting to feel bad for John. The man was trying, honest to goodness trying, not to screw this up. Granted it was fun to badger Sheppard, but what Odran was doing was nothing more then him establishing himself as a grunt-hating jerk, as well as shoving superiority in John's face. John was a soldier, therefore had to be the good little pup and obey commands. What was even worse, Odran didn't know when to quit, and not even Sheppard's arsenal of dirty looks could stop him.

McKay thought fast to diffuse the situation. " Uh... let me tell you about... um... how we came to find the Ancestors. It was actually all his doing," he jerked his thumb at Sheppard. " Just dropped his skinny butt in a chair, and next thing we know, here we are. But that's not the half of it..."

He had wanted to talk of their first days in Atlantis – which would involve how the wraith came to be rudely interrupted from their century long nap - but caught himself in time. McKay wasn't good about omitting details, and Sheppard didn't need provoked hatred added to the unprovoked prejudice continually being dumped on him. So he skipped all that to tell about time traveling and how it had saved the city and their expedition. The story had them enthralled, so much so they didn't see Sheppard dropping off again.

Until he literally dropped. He tilted forward, inch by inch, then suddenly pitched to go diving face first into the soup, toppling from the chair, and sliding from the table taking the bowl with him. His hand shot up to grab the edge of the table, and gradually he raised his head, peeking sheepishly over the top, face green, hair green, and Hebert shaking green droplets from his fur.

John pulled himself back into his seat, head down, which siphoned more drops onto the table. The pavilion was dead silent – a cricket could have died and they all would have heard it's gasping choke. The three officials were gaping, as was Rodney and Teyla. Ronon just had both eyebrows raised. Time halted for an uncountable number of seconds before Sheppard reach out tentatively to take a cloth napkin and wipe his face.

" S-sorry," he whispered. He tried for an abashed smile, which faded when the gapes morphed into death glares.

McKay's fingers twitched to satisfy the need of throttling. But all in good time.

SGA

There was an actual effort involved in keeping Rodney's fingers from wrapping around the Colonel's neck during the dead-silent trek back to the camp. Just one quick squeeze to cut off the air supply, scare the hell out of Sheppard, and weaken him enough to be more of a match when the inevitable fist fight would ensue. Rodney had to satiate sadistic needs by giving Sheppard the occasional shove when he began to slow down, and return the man's annoyed glares with his own laser-sharp, heavy-lidded gaze of fury.

Sensing the tension, Herbert had taken to hiding within Sheppard's jacket, mewling. The scent of roasted pineapple was a heavy, not-so-pleasant and quickly souring perfume on the both of them.

Rodney let his rage simmer toward boiling point. He needed it hot enough for a proper tirade, the kind that would have even impenetrable fly-boy Sheppard shrinking back and begging for forgiveness. They had nearly lost temple visitation privileges, had to endure the high-pitched rants of pissed officials and the smug 'I told you soldiers are worthless scum' speeches from Odran. They wanted Sheppard gone – not kept away from the temple or out of the city – they wanted him off the planet, which was a no can-do since Sheppard was the leader and Weir probably wouldn't have it. Unless Rodney could find the right word and plea combination to convince her otherwise, maybe trade Sheppard in for Lorne. That might work...

They reached the camp where the fire was reduced to nothing more than red embers and gray ashes. Time to let loose the dogs of insult.

McKay opened his mouth, took a deep breath and...

Sheppard whirled around. " I am really, really, really freakin' sorry McKay. I don't know what the hell happened, I don't know why I did that, and I sure as hell didn't mean to. It wasn't the conversation, I swear, maybe something in the food..."

Rodney just stared. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Sheppard wasn't supposed to be apologizing yet. And Rodney hadn't had his tirade.

_Oh hell no!_ He was going to have his tirade. The situation owed it to him, the tirade was his due, and Sheppard was in no way on this world or any other going to get off that scott free.

" Shut up, _Colonel_."

Sheppard's apology got caught in his own throat, and he gaped at Rodney as though the physicist had back-handed him twice while insulting his mother. Satisfaction warmed in Rodney's chest.

Just started and already on a roll, Rodney planted a finger hard on John's chest. " All you had to do was keep quiet and not piss off the locals. But no, you had to find another way to screw things up and nearly cause us to lose the most significant – no, let me rephrase that – _life or death important find_ since coming to this galaxy. ZedPMs, Colonel. Those lose meaning for you or something? It was one stupid banquet, sit through one stupid banquet and you couldn't even do that! Now they won't even let us in the temple _until you're physically escorted off this rock! _Which can't happen until Elizabeth okay's a replacement! Which means we'll be behind on the research until that happens!"

The roll was cresting into a tsunami, and Rodney had no intentions of letting up. " I hope, that when you get back, Beckett pulls the biggest, nastiest, inhumanly cruelest needles on you and injects you with something that'll keep you awake for a few hours! Wouldn't want Elizabeth getting offended when you fall asleep during one of her briefings. Oh, wait... _You do_! What the hell is your problem, Colonel? Huh? Just assume since it's not entertaining for you that you can just slip off and no one would notice? Or were you too impatient to dope yourself up again and mixed medications to get the right buzz?"

John's features darkened. " McKay..."

" No, Colonel, don't _even _start! You're always doing that. I talk or Elizabeth talks or anyone else talks and you zone out so far you actually, physically drop! I'm sorry if our important topics don't interest you. But you're not here to be entertained, you're here to serve and protect, and since you're doing a rather crappy job at both, then you don't even need to be here. So you can be the one to head back, tell Elizabeth how you nearly messed this up, and send someone else. We don't need you here, _Colonel."_

Too little too late, with the rant complete, the follow-up regret was sneaking up on him, causing him to try and recall anything he'd said that would have Sheppard laying him flat with a fist to the face. Except such reactions usually manifested by now.

What manifested might as well have been a deck to the head. The look on John's face was unexpected.

Apologetic, pure apologetic. No retorts, no explosions of anger or petulance. John was really doing a poor job of living up to Rodney's expectations. A new, different fury roiled in McKay. Sheppard wasn't fighting back. He was _supposed _to be fighting back, not taking on the uncanny resemblance of a kicked puppy.

Sheppard set his mouth in a straight line and nodded. " Yeah. Okay. I'll go..."

Teyla stepped up then, having remained tensely muted the rest of the time. " Perhaps we should not jump to such a conclusion so soon. If we could convince the mayor to accept John's apology..."

John looked at her oddly. " Why? McKay's right. I'm useless here and – evidentially – getting in the way. It's not a big deal, Teyla."

Ronon joined in on the Sheppard support group. " It is if they're getting their way. They shouldn't be able to push us around."

Rodney rolled his eyes. " They're not pushing us around! Look, this is their world, their rule, their paranoia. Sorry to smack reality in your faces, but if we want to find these ZedPMs, then we're going to have to suck up to whatever they want us to suck up to. Which means – sorry to say – the Colonel has to go."

Ronon glowered, which made Rodney shudder. " It's not right."

Rodney shrugged uncomfortably. " Probably not, but Sheppard should have thought about that before he doped himself up. I'm telling you, it's that tea, you need to stop drinking it."

" We may need him," Teyla pressed. " Could we not convince them to let Sheppard stay at least in the camp? He is closest to the 'gate and will need to secure it for our escape if it ever came to that."

Teyla had Rodney there. Not that he would say it out loud – especially in the here and now – but Sheppard had his uses, which normally came about during a crisis. And though nothing bad had gone down yet, it didn't mean misfortune wasn't in their future.

Rodney sighed. " Okay, fine, we'll go have a talk with them, see if we can't put our collective heads together to form the right words that might change their mind. No promises though. And you stay here, Colonel. Seeing your face is bad enough, they shouldn't have to smell you."

John shrugged. " Whatever McKay. I really don't care."

Sheppard's words struck Rodney as odd. In fact, his whole demeanor was titling the scales toward unnervingly strange. Too subdued, way too subdued – and agreeable? Now that was just messed up. Then their was Sheppard's all-out wearied appearance as though he'd just ran forty miles while blasting down some wraith and it was just now catching up to him.

Sheppard made his way over to the rock, plopped down, and laid back. Herbert scurried from his jacket to go bounding over to, and around, Rodney's legs.

Rodney's anger had lost its savor. Sheppard's behavior screamed warning, but Rodney pushed those warnings aside with the thought that it was just the tea causing the Colonel's marked drowsiness. Just the tea.

" Um," Rodney stuttered. " We'll be... Right back. Don't go anywhere."

" Wasn't planning to," John murmured, head already lolling limply to the side with eyes closed.

SGA

" Son of a..." Rodney muttered. Barely to the city gate, and he was starting to feel lower than the stuff that accumulated in drain pipes. But then that was the problem with anger, it sucked energy fast, and wore out fast, leaving Rodney's mind to suffer through the reprimand of his old pal logic.

Yes, Sheppard's apparent narcoleptic moment had been embarrassing as hell, but it wasn't as if he'd done it on purpose. Should have known better than to pop pills and weird tea, but still hadn't done it on purpose. Then there were the town's folk who would have jumped on an inappropriately timed sneeze to assault the Colonel and skin him alive. Really, one would have thought the villagers pleased that who they believed to be a dangerous and not to be trusted grunt had humiliated himself - brought himself down several pegs.

Ronon was right – this wasn't right. Kicking a man off a planet because he fell asleep in his soup – Rodney would have hated to see what the result would have been if Sheppard's gun had accidentally gone off and killed one of those chicken-things. Probably all out war, and that made Rodney shiver.

Teyla was walking along side Rodney, and in all that time had yet to say anything, which wasn't helping McKay's state of mind. Teyla was the sensible sort, and had already realized what McKay was just starting to – that the officials had been too hard on Sheppard, and that McKay was dragging along behind that particular band wagon.

" I believe," Teyla said, breaking the silence and startling McKay, " that the Colonel's apology was most sincere. He is our leader, but he is also like any other, and makes mistakes. The Mayor is being too harsh. John did nothing wrong. He is simply weary."

_You noticed that too,_ Rodney wanted to quip. It was almost habit to say that something was wrong, except that nothing was wrong. Sheppard didn't have a fever, and confessed to taking a pain pill which Rodney was fairly certain caused some sort of mind-numbing reaction when combined with the chemical properties of the tea. But was that really Sheppard's fault? It wasn't as though both tea and pill came with a warning not to be taken together. The tea was alien, so there was no saying what kind of reactions were created when other medicines were involved.

Now Rodney was worried. Perhaps if they explained it as thus to the Mayor...

They weren't even at the door when it groaned open and the three were waved inside by an armed guard.

" Quickly!" he hissed. " You must hurry!"

The team slowed and exchanged questioning looks before Teyla finally asked.

" Um, is something wrong?"

" Danger! Come in, quick. You'll be safe inside."

Rodney halted and stiffened. " Danger? What danger? Where? What's going on...?"

His questions were halted when two more soldiers hurried out to usher the team through the doors, practically shoving them.

" Colonel Sheppard!" Teyla yelped. She turned with the intent of charging back to the camp when the city doors were shoved closed with a resounding thud. The look of terrified shock on Teyla's face had Rodney's heart going double time. He whirled around and around, trying to fine someone of higher authority, and stopped on seeing the Mayor, priest, and Odran hurrying toward them.

" My friends!" Odran said. " You have made it just in time. We were about to send someone to fetch you. It is not safe to be out in the woods."

Rodney's head whipped back and forth between the door and Odran. " What? Why? What's out there? What's happening?"

" We have to go back!" Teyla frantically pleaded. " Colonel Sheppard is still at the camp."

The priest's heavy brows creased, shadowing his eyes, reminding Rodney a little too much of the highschool principle that had never really cared for the overbearing genius much.

" _He_ is still on our world? Why!"

Rodney snapped from his numbed stupor. 'Teammate' and 'left behind' made 'what' and 'why' obsolete. " Look, that doesn't matter. What matters is that he's still out there and we need to get him."

The mayor, however, shook his head. " It is too late. The Murg have already come."

Odran crossed his arms. " I'm sure your Colonel Sheppard is quite capable of saving himself. He is armed, and has legs that look sufficient for running. And seeing as he is one of yours, I suppose we could keep watch for him and let him enter the city should he make it."

The twitch in Rodney's fingers had returned with sights on Odran's neck.

They hesitantly followed Odran to the stairs hugging the wall leading to the battlements. Not surprising for a paranoid bunch of hot-heads, they had a perfect and direct view through the trees to the camp. Only distance was the hindrance until spyglasses were handed around. Rodney settled for the mini-binoculars tucked in his vest pocket.

Now he could see, and what he saw besides Sheppard dozing on that out-jutting rock was absolutely nothing. No marauders, no invaders, not even a freakin' alien vulture fluttering down to see if Sheppard was dead.

" There's nothing out there!" he snarled. He wanted the tone to be accompanied by a look of rage, but found he couldn't tear his gaze from the camp. Keeping Sheppard in sight, for Rodney, provided a small indefinite – albeit delusional as he knew it was – amount of safety for the Colonel (in other words, made Rodney feel slightly better since as of yet there was nothing more they could do). " Can't we just call to him or something? What the hell is a Murg!"

" A very deadly predator, Dr. McKay," Odran explained. " Very deadly. You will not see them as of yet since they keep away from the clearings until prey is discovered. Even then, their coloring allows them to blend into their surroundings. Watch for movement along the ground. You will see them soon enough."

Rodney's heart beat fit to break bone. He ground his teeth, and fought the need to bash the officials in the face. " Then why can't we call to Sheppard? Warn him? Give him a chance to haul his butt up here?"

" The Murg are fast and will catch him before he is even within range of our weapons. Your friend's life depends on him remaining motionless and asleep – which I'm fairly confident he will have no trouble with."

_Keep pressing buttons, pal!_ Screw the temple. It wasn't worth Sheppard's life.

Rodney felt a small weight on his shoulder, fur against his neck, and a small body trembling and mewling fretfully. Then Rodney saw the movement.

SGA

Yes, keeping both shirt and jacket on did wonders. Sheppard didn't have the energy to remove either anyways. Hell, a bug could have landed on his face, called its buddies, had a party, laid eggs, and John wouldn't have been able to do a damn thing about it. Okay, he was exaggerating to himself, but it summed up the utter sluggishness of his body appropriately. He knew he should have been concerned, except concern took energy, and he was trying to save on that.

The bird twitterings of the forest were strangely subdued, almost muted, except for the hooting which had picked up in number and pitch. There was another sound too, a new one – some sort of whuffing, very reminiscent of dogs sniffing something out. Alien bloodhounds? Some kind of hunting party?

_Just how pissed off at me are these people?_

Rancid breath like bad meat puffed in his face. John winced and peeled apart one eyelid. He blinked away sleep-film until his vision adjusted to the ugliest mutt face he'd ever seen. Kind of like a gray-hound, an emaciated, bald greyhound with mottled brown, tan, and green skin, no visible ears, two large nostril slits for a nose, and the sickest shocker of them all – not eyes.

SGA

Rodney squinted, leaning forward until his stomach pressed against the edge of the wall. His heart was trying to crawl into his throat, taking his stomach with it. One of the Murg were right in Sheppard's face, but every time it stilled, Rodney lost sight of it. The suckers really were naturally gifted with super camouflage. Rodney breathed faster, and he flicked his tongue over dry lips.

" W-w-what're they doing?"

" Exploring the area," Odran said, sounding strangely fascinated by it all. " The Murg are quite unique creatures. They have no eyes what so ever – are completely blind, so must rely on their other senses heavily. Smell for one, and even touch. Their skin is so sensitive that you do not even have to touch one, just move in close enough, and they will feel your presence. And though they do not have ears, sound is their most powerful sense."

Rodney swallowed against a dry throat and asked without really caring for an answer, " Uh-huh. How so?"

" Oh, why, they can hear your fear."

SGA

Thin lips parted from yellow-tinted fangs. The ugly hound was relentless in its panting, and Sheppard was actually getting dizzy from the stench. With a groan, Sheppard turned his head the other direction.

" Go away," he muttered, his one eye sliding closed.

Something warm, wet, and slimy as an earth worm slid across the back of his neck. Hidden energy reserves were yanked from hiding, and Sheppard snapped his head up, wiping at his neck, then swiping at the overly friendly hell-hound.

" Ah crap! That's nasty! Get away from me you freak!" He growled, and swiped at the blind mutt with his other hand.

SGA

" What do you mean 'hear fear'? How the hell do you hear fear?"

" The heart, Dr. McKay. Fear increases the pace of the heart. Rather than picking up the scent, they pick up the sound of the heart, _then_ the scent of sweat. It aids them in knowing what to go after, since creatures more dangerous than them would express no fear..."

McKay was surprised the hounds didn't surround the city. Then he heard the hisses and gutteral rumblings from below. He didn't dare look down, not when John had taken to swiping at one of the beasts.

" Oh crap, no!"

SGA

The putrid breath eased up, and John contentedly curled tighter onto his side, using his arm as a pillow. He continued to hear the whuffs, accompanied by hisses and low growls. He opened his eyes and watched with lazy interest the dogs sniffing about the camp. Their interest became keen on the food cooler.

John closed his eyes and exhaled heavily. " Great." He let that get knocked over, McKay would probably skin him alive to refill it. Nap time was a bust until the eye-less dogs went on their blundering way. The town's folk claimed him as rude – at least had he brought in some earth animal he would have had the decency to keep it from running a muck throughout their city.

John pushed himself up stiffly, almost painfully, and breathing heavy from the exertion. With a loud groan he stumbled over to the cooler, kicking at the dogs and snapping at them in a voice octaves similar to a real growl.

" Get out of here you mutated excuse for mutts!"

The dogs yelped, whined, snarled, and slunk back a ways with tails between their legs. They were even uglier when cowering, knobby backbones stretching skin like stumpy spikes, and thin ribs looking more fragile than twigs. John could not begin to see the appeal these creatures had on the locals.

SGA

" My word!" Odran exclaimed. " He shows no fear, no fear at all!"

Rodney became surrounded by collective gasps of wonder and fright. The gasps hit a high-note whenever John kicked or yelled at a Murg and it slunk away.

Rodney shook his head, and was unable to keep his jaw from hanging open. " What the hell is wrong with him!"

He heard Ronon grunt beside him. " Either he knows what he's doing, or is being very foolish."

" I'm inclined to go with the latter," Rodney mumbled, solving his slack-jaw problem by gritting his teeth. He watched half-seething and half with bated breath as John lifted the cooler, staggering under a weight that even Rodney knew wasn't all that heavy. He carried it over to the hut, then proceeded to lift it up with precarious effort and slide it onto the thatched roof, all while Murg danced around him, hissing, yelping and growling.

Rodney made a small sound of alarm when a Murg nipped at John's boot. Then John whirled around, lifting his arms high and shouting out for everyone to hear.

" Get out of here!"

Rodney could almost discern the vicious snarl in his voice.

" Go on! Beat it you butt-freakin'-ugly reject Resident Evil zombie dogs! Go back to momma Cujo and leave me the hell alone!"

Leave it to John to go for the movie quotes. Rodney would have gone more Cerberus and Hades.

Rodney twitched his head. John's lack of terror was rubbing off – or maybe it was the cowering retreat of a supposed vicious beast – because Rodney's heart had descended back into it's proper place in his chest.

The Murgs were still within the camp, just not close to Sheppard. As Sheppard began to clean the camp, tossing packs and what-not onto the roof out of the Murgs' reach, he would occasionally make a run at them, arms raised, growling and snarling, until the creatures were finally beyond the perimeter of the camp. John then went into the hut, and didn't come back out.

" That was amazing," Odran breathed. " Completely amazing! No one has ever shown such calm in the face of a Murg."

At this, Ronon sniffed. " Bet I could have."

Odran didn't seem to hear. " You must bring your Colonel here. We must know how he was able to accomplish this. Murgs are very dangerous, and difficult to get rid of unless one's own numbers are greater than that of the pack's."

Rodney lowered his binoculars.

_Yeah, nooow you like him. Nooow you want to play nicey nice with the soldier you didn't mind spitting on a few minutes ago._ Oh how Rodney wanted to say it. Well, it would have to be nuts to them. They'd left Sheppard to die, and it was only because of his - because of his what? Naivety? Macho idiocy? The fact that he never cares if he lives or dies? McKay went for all three – that he was alive.

Chalk one up to the man with the self-sacrificing death wish – Kamikaze attitudes finally came in handy.

The men along the walls fired at the Murgs circling the city, and still Sheppard didn't emerge, which was good reason to worry. John reacted to gunshots even when they were seventy miles away – kind of like a spidey-sense thing with him.

The whines, yips, howls, and snarls of the Murgs died off into the distance, and the moment they did, McKay was off running down the steps from the wall, with Teyla and Ronon following on his heels.

SGA

They raced into the camp, then into the hut, skidding to a halt that raised a small cloud of dust. In the dusky light they saw the huddled form of Sheppard in his sleeping bag, breathing deep and evenly. His face was turned to them, and even in the crappy light, the lack of color was disturbing.

Teyla quietly approached Sheppard and knelt beside him. When she placed her hand on his cheek, she gasped.

" He's so cold," she said, looking worriedly to Ronon and McKay. She looked back to John, and leaned down close.

" Colonel Sheppard? Colonel, can you wake up?"

John inhaled – long and deep – and opened bleary eyes. The dark circles enhanced his exhaustion, giving his features an almost skeletal quality.

John sighed a weary-heavy sigh. " Hhhhey Teyla. How'd it go?"

Rodney could barely hear him. He marched over to John and dropped in a crouch beside him, giving the Colonel what he hoped was a dangerous glare. " What the _hell_ is wrong with you!" He barked. Teyla's eyes went wide.

" Dr. McKay..."

Rodney didn't listen. It was rant time again, and never wise to hold out when it came calling. " What, you see a bunch of dogs and think Lassie? Those were psycho vicious predators, Sheppard!"

John blinked in apparent confusion. " They were?"

" Yes, Colonel, they were! Lack of collar, snarling, growling... Was it really all that hard to tell! Just because Herbert was all cute and cuddly doesn't mean everything is!"

John's brow furrowed in a poor scowl. " I didn't think those mutts were cute..."

" Then what were you thinking! You could have been killed!"

Sheppard shivered, then huddled deeper into the sleeping bag. " But I didn't get killed. S'doesn't matter. S'all good..."

His eyes were drifting closed, and would have if Rodney hadn't patted his face.

" I'm not done yet, Colonel. So wake up! Did you drink more of that tea?"

" No," John mumbled.

" Pain pill?"

John shook his head.

" Then what's wrong!"

John's eyes opened, just a little, as best as he could get in terms of widening them, and Rodney saw his whole frame shaking within the sleeping bag.

" I-I don't know. I'm so tired. I'm just... I can't... I can't stay awake. I'm cold. Why am I cold?"

John should have been panicking, looked like he was about to, probably would have been by now, but his eyes were winning the battle to shut. Rodney's fear-born fury got shoved aside for just plain fear. He put his finger's to the ice-cold skin of John's neck, feeling a pulse – steady, but incredibly weak. Rodney's heart sank to his intestines.

" Oh crap," he whined. " Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap I knew it. Something's wrong. We've gotta get him out of here. Teyla, wake him up."

As Teyla patted John's face, Rodney pulled the zipper of the sleeping bag. Teyla's administrations got John back into the waking world enough for Rodney and Ronon to help lifted him to his feet. They then stumbled from the hut, both men supporting most of John's weight.

" Leave this stuff, We'll get it later," Rodney said, glancing back to the packs on the roof. The gate wasn't that far. Same distance as to the village, but like Rodney was going to take John over to those Neanderthals. Impressed as they had seemed by his supposed bravery, any cures administered by these backwater troglodytes would probably involve spitting on him some more.

Even with the distance barely anything, Sheppard half asleep as they practically dragged him turned the trek into miles. It was in sight, but too much like those nightmares where the more one walked, the farther away the destination became. Teyla ran on ahead to dial the gate and enter the IDC. She then went through, and Ronon, Sheppard, and Rodney followed after.

One always nauseating ride later and they stumbled through. They continued to hold John upright until Beckett and his medical team arrived, Carson wearing his game-face of 'no-surprises-here' with just a smidgen of concern.

With the help of nurses, they got John onto the gurney, where he immediately curled up.

" What's the matter?" Beckett asked, looking John over for injuries.

Rodney exchanged a questioning look with Ronon, who shrugged.

" Um..." Rodney stammered. " He's sleepy."

Beckett looked up and cocked an eyebrow. " Sleepy?"

" Yeah, as in he's having a nasty time staying awake, plus his pulse was really slow. Oh, and he's all cold. Not hot. No fever. Just... cold."

It was odd, not describing an injury or possible illness – not to mention hard. Beckett placed on his stethoscope and slipped the listening end down the collar of John's shirt.

" Uh-huh. His heart rate is alarmingly low. Let's move him to the infirmary. But I swear, if this has somethin' to do with drinkin' too much... The big needles!"

Sheppard moaned, and shrank smaller.

The medical team wheeled John away in no immediate hurry. Rodney, Ronon and Teyla followed, concerned, and Rodney a little nervous about Beckett's wrath should this be nothing more than an overdose of that tea. John was a prodigy when it came to deception.

Elizabeth joined them, worried as usual. " Did something happen to make him like this?"

Rodney shrugged. " Can't say yet. He was just... sleepy all the time. Almost lost us temple visitations when he dropped off into his soup at dinner. But that's not really important. What's important is..."

He didn't know what was important, because something was wrong, he didn't know what, and until he knew, nothing was important.

They entered the infirmary, hovering at the back, confused for once rather than panicked. There was no chaos except for an almost leisurely chaos. McKay didn't like it. So Sheppard's main problem seemed to be excessive fatigue. Didn't make it any less important.

Then again, it wasn't like there was much for Beckett to do. No wounds, no fevers, just an overly limp and shivering body. They removed John's jacket, then his shirt by slipping it off rather than cutting it. John curled tight, wrapping his arms around himself and shaking.

" I-i-i-it's-s-s-s c-c-c-c-cold."

Beckett was all concern now – just not the usual frenetic concern. This one was more along the lines of a kind of parental worry over a kid with the flu, joined by a little pity. Even without a fever, John looked ill – pale, sunken eyed, and weak in his movements.

" I know lad. We'll get ya warmed in a minute," Beckett kindly assured him. They attached the heart monitor, took some blood, then covered him with a warming blanket. He was out the moment the heated blanket touched him.

" Rodney," he heard Weir tremulously say. " What the hell is that?"

He turned to her, but she wasn't looking at him, at least not in the face. He felt movement at his back, under his jacket. Reaching behind himself, he felt for Herbert and pulled him out by the scruff. Herbert pressed against his chest while sniffing the air.

" Oh, this. Yeah, forgot about him. He's a – uh... friend."

Weir looked at him oddly, arms folded and mouth slightly ajar.

Rodney smiled sheepishly and hugged Herbert to him.

" Uh... Can I keep him?" he said, and followed up with a nervous chuckle.

SGA

_Heaven, thy presence be here._ It was official, Sheppard had found his paradise. Warm chest, warm back, and softness; blessedly yielding softness that had his bones sighing in contentment every two minutes. More like singing, really, each time he moved and nothing sharp and solid tried to dig into him. He ignored the fact that there were no bird songs or the pleasant scent of cedar – replaced by steady beeps and antiseptic smells – but soft and warmth made up for it.

John drifted in and out of dreams, and was quite happy to remain in that state, except that a constant movement in the real world – taking place about the bed and his body – forced him to pull from it and remedy the disturbance. He opened sticky, unfocused eyes and rolled them to the blinding brilliant fluff roaming about the sterile white blankets. John didn't need 20/20 vision to identify that small bundle of blazing color. He pulled his IV free hand from the blankets to tap his chest.

" Come 'ere Sherbet you little spaz," he croaked, and coughed thanks to a parched throat. Sherbet yeeped and bounded over to John's moving fingers. He sniffed, pawed at them, then rolled onto his back to bat the waggling appendages.

" What the bloody hell is that rodent doin' in here?" Beckett's enraged accent had John gathering the blazing bright fluff protectively against his chest.

" 'Is cool doc," and John coughed A straw materialized out of the corner of his eye, and John turned his head to take it into his mouth. He sucked and gulped fast, unrelenting, and so causing drops to squirt from the straw when Beckett pulled it away.

" Take it slow, Colonel. Not that you're dehydrated – not bloody well while you're in my infirmary – but you've been in and out for a wee bit of a while and your body isn't too happy about it."

John tested his throat by clearing it then swallowing. The lack of his esophagus sticking was as heavenly as the bed. " Define a _wee bit_ of a while."

" 'Bout two days, possibly more until your body finally gets to rightin' itself."

John twitched his head in the Scottish Doc's direction, narrowing his eyes as he stroked Sherbet, feeling very James Bond villainous – or more appropriately like Dr. Evil minus the alien feline being bald. " Explain?"

Beckett sucked his teeth, clucked his tongue, then shook his head. " Well... rather funny really – not in the long run but rather in retrospect. Seems you suffered a pharmaceutical mishap, lad. No thanks to me, mind ya. What with curin' the strep throat, dullin' down your wrenched back, and your high blood pressure, I didn't stop to consider the consequences of mixing medicines. Of course, I didn't think of that Athosian tea in terms of medicine..."

John went stone still except for his widening eyes. " Son of a...! So Rodney was right. It _was_ the tea."

Beckett nodded sheepishly. " Aye... sort of. It was more the result of the combination of the tea and the meds you've been takin'. I honestly didn't think there'd be side effects... But there was – and I'll be the first to admit it was a doozy. The mix of chemicals meant to dull pain and relax ya worked to actually slow your heart rate and continue to slow it. I've yet to sort the details, but I've a pretty good idea how it's possible since both the tea and the meds affect the mind in order to stem back the pain receptors from receiving pain signals. But to put it more simply, the combination had created a kind of super muscle relaxant, like a mild sedative. However, unlike a sedative, it didn't affect ya right away, but slowly built up as you continued to take the tea and the meds."

Carson chewed his lip, then grimaced. " The tea's quite slow about leavin' the system, and joinin' with the pain meds kept them in your system as well. Each time ya took both, the little cocktail built up, which slowed your heart even more. Had ya not been brought back for us to figure this thing out, and you kept takin' the meds... you could have died son. Your heart would have eventually come to a point where it would have stopped – just stopped – and it would have been my fault."

John didn't like the look of guilt on Carson's face, and took immediate pity on the man. The Highland doc – being chief physician – had enough on his plate dealing with worry over patients who couldn't stay healthy for more than five minutes. He didn't need guilt chipping at him.

" Like hell it would have," John said. " I mean how the hell were we supposed to know that tea and Aspirin don't mix? It's not like they have a warning on the bottle, and I usually pop a pain pill with tea anyways. Besides – you know how you like to blame me for the messes I get into despite the fact I can't predict when the wraith are going to pop up? Well, now you can reprimand me to your hearts content since I probably would have kept taking the meds if my team hadn't panicked and brought me back. I don't exactly think straight when tired. Plus you'd of had to have been there shoving the pills down my throat for this to be your fault. We got it in time, doc, and learned a valuable lesson from it without it costing us anything. So don't go beating yourself up over what is obviously shared naivety. You know me, I ignore the warnings until it's all one step away from being too late."

Beckett smiled and clasped John on the shoulder. " No denyin' the truth there. I'll try not to beat myself up, but I still take the blame – some of it."

John smiled wearily back. " I'll take the rest of the blame then. So that aside, what's the treatment? I like sleep as much as the next guy, but this is getting ridiculous, and I refuse to lose muscle tone to lying around waiting for my heart to kick it into gear. I get enough crap with Rodney's pale jokes."

" No real treatment say for lettin' the chemicals go from your body. Another day, perhaps." Beckett then grinned, and John eyed him warily. " After that, there's somethin' I think I'd like to try that might get ya back on your feet quick as a wink..."

SGA

Rodney was almost at a run down the metallic corridors leading to the infirmary. Three days of Sheppard being in a practical comatose state from having a dangerously low heart rate, then out of the blue Rodney overhears Teyla telling Ronon that Sheppard was being released today.

Rodney knew he should have gone in sooner, talked to Sheppard while he was barely coherent. It would have been easier then, and Rodney could have slipped in a few insults without the worry of retaliation. The Colonel had been too easy to put down thanks to his 'condition', and that had been just wrong.

Rodney was closing in on the infirmary doors, almost there, opening them with his thoughts. He came to a sliding halt inches from a tall, gangly body blocking the entrance.

" Whoa, what the freak!" He stumbled back, panting, and looked up into the bright eyed and bushy-tailed grinning face of Sheppard, dressed in BDUs and a black T-shirt.

" Colonel, Sheppard, John!" Rodney gasped.

John jerked his head in a nod. " That's my name."

Rodney put a hand to his chest and took a moment to catch his breath before speaking. " Good, found you. Great. Um..." He dropped his hand to his side, started rubbing his hip, and cleared a throat prematurely tightening in the discomfort he was about to endure. " Um... Listen... I just wanted to – you know..." he cleared his throat again. " To apologize... For, um... the way I acted – pretty much treated you – back on the planet." Rodney couldn't take it. A broken bone he'd take, but apologies were a more sadistic torture for him, and he had to look away. " I'd been unfair. Hell, I even knew something was up. But rather than doing anything about it, I let it happen, then called you a screw up for it. But you're not. I am. I was so damn intent on that temple I didn't see what was happening and it almost got you killed. I just wanted you to know that – and that you're not a screw up, and that what happened on the planet wasn't your fault. You didn't deserve all that crap, not from those anal officials and especially not from me." Rodney then let out a sharp, relieved breath. " There, I said it. And to make it up to you..." now was the part he was truly regretting, " You can call Herbert Sherbet."

Rodney felt the weight of a warm hand on his shoulder, and looked back into Sheppard's face to see him smiling warmly.

" Apology accepted thanks Rodney."

Rodney nodded and rocked back on his heels. " Thanks. So... How're you feeling."

John patted Rodney's shoulder.

" Awesome." He then lifted his hand holding a familiar green can, and took a sip. " Beckett's got me on this kick-butt recovery that's got me more energized than a freakin' battery and to tell you the truth I haven't felt this awesome in days and I was thinking that maybe I'd teach Ronon to skateboard since he's been asking me and asking me and asking me so might as well use this energy for something right? You wanna come with?"

Rodney gaped, snapped his jaw shut, then narrowed his eyes to slits. " Oh I am gonna _kill_ that witchdoctor and shove his voodoo doll down his throat!"

John shrugged and took another sip. " Suit yourself but I'd stay clear of the halls for a couple of hours come on Sherbet wanna play fetch!"

John then took off down the hall at a trot, Sherbet bounding and yeeping at his heels.

The End

A/N: So what did you think? Good sequel? Would you like Sherbet to make future appearances? I'm deeply contemplating it.


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